


Revisiting

by ceruleaneyes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dave thinking about everything, Dubious Morality, Gen, M/M, kind of, lives of the rich and famous, where is this even going to go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:48:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleaneyes/pseuds/ceruleaneyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been gone this long for a reason. So why the hell are you back?</p><p>--</p><p>AU in which Dave Strider is on his way to becoming a famous movie director/producer after finishing Sburb, and he thinks he's finally started growing out of his old life. That is, until he paid a visit to where it all began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of like an in between of the beta and alpha timeline versions of him.

It’s been, what, a year? Maybe a little less? Hell, maybe more?

The apartment was familiar, and almost everything was still in its place. Enough money was made and sent over to maintain ownership, ensuring that no one could get their hands on this one last piece of the past still in your grasp, even if you don’t even stay here anymore.

You, Dave Strider, had finally written enough of a slipshod script to make a decent amount of content for a movie, and those idiots at Hollywood were probably that desperate to take yours. You had shown your SBAHJ writings as an ironic joke once, and the guy you showed it to loved it. And apparently he had connections. It was still a long way off from being something you’d be completely proud of, because you sometimes prefer having these things to yourself than shared with the masses. Not everyone gets the undertones of irony. They just think it’s all purely slapstick. Those who didn’t quite get the humor laughed along with the audience anyway.

So you’ve been living in a flat that wasn’t even in Texas anymore; it was much bigger than this place, and certainly held less memories than where you stood now. At first, you moved out for convenience’s sake. It was a lot easier to be available for meetings and events when you lived closer to the center of activity. You swore you’d come back whenever things die down enough for you to have a break.

Eventually you just stopped coming back. You still hadn’t found a baby version of Bro from a meteor or whatever, so you thought it was okay. That it was fine if you left, because you didn’t have _that_ particular responsibility to handle just yet.

Coming back to the apartment made you feel just a tiny bit hollow inside, reminding you of why you had left. When you had downtime, everything came rushing back. Always. You’d remember memories of the game, memories of your childhood, _memories of your Bro_. It was a little sickening to admit that that still actually choked you up from time to time. Living somewhere else made the memories and nightmares come less frequently, but they didn’t completely leave you. That was where alcohol and smoking came into your life. It helped you cope on most days when it got really bad. Or maybe it was just a Hollywood thing.

A heavy sigh is exhaled as you pick your way through the place, seeing all the things you had left behind. You peek into Bro’s room, but think better of it, and just go straight for your old room. Photos of your old life still hung on the clothesline, long dried out and faded. Friends, family (although it was just you, Bro, and Cal), those ironic selfies, all of them looking back at you in black and white. There was even a camera still on the perpetually unmade bed. Your finger goes over your old turntables, showing you how dusty and neglected your music has been ever since you abandoned your dreams of becoming a DJ just like Bro to become a movie director-slash-producer. The window to the fire escape gets opened, and you sit on the sill and take out a pack of cigarettes. When you light one and take a drag, your laugh comes out accompanied by smoke. You remember saying there were better ways to die than by taking up smoking.

You remember a lot of things, now that you were back in the apartment. That’s probably why you were out on the fire escape, breathing in the familiar smell of the city you grew up with. Only this time, it was punctuated by the foreign scent of cigarette smoke that came from your own parted lips.


	2. Drown the Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave finds a bottle of vodka and revisits horrifying memories.

Clear liquid goes down your throat; it was neither hot or cold, but it still managed to burn slightly on its way down. You worsen the sensation with another drag from your cigarette. It's the third one you've smoked in a row, and your fingers smell even more of the burning tobacco.

Being here wasn't good for you at all, but you stuck around for some reason anyway, just sort of torturing yourself a little. You managed to find the bottle of vodka you stashed away under your bed, still half full from the last time you got drunk with John when he stayed over. It started out with being pissed off about something Bro did, then you just spiraled down into a depressed mood and taking the first swig from a bottle you nicked from Bro's room. You know for sure John kept the same pace as you with drinking; soon both of you were drunk and giggling before details got fuzzy. The next part you remember was waking up sprawled in bed with a naked John who was dotted with hickeys and bruises on his hips that aligned with your fingers perfectly.

It always started out this way somehow. The slightly bitter taste and the burn of alcohol would always make you remember first before you find yourself taking one gulp too many, then thoughts stopped making sense altogether, and you black out soon after.

You stand there in the middle of the room for a while, eyeing your bed. It didn't take very long for your room to smell of cigarette smoke. Another sip of vodka reminds you of something more recent. A small shudder follows as you swallow the liquid. This one, you remember much too clearly.

Barely more than a few months ago, you were at another Hollywood party, talking up your movie with people who were higher up on the media ladder. It was all routine ass-kissing at first, until you caught the attention of a woman who was probably _at least_ ten years or more your senior. Your skin crawled with the way she spoke to you. There wasn't even a tiny doubt about it; she was a cougar, and she had her eyes set on you. You remember scanning the room for some kind of escape route until she tugged on your tie, forcing you into a slight bow so she could whisper in your ear. The disgusted shiver was barely controllable. She had told you that in exchange for one night, she would assure that all your movies would be a success for the rest of your career. You had almost said no right on the spot; you didn't particularly care if they became box office hits or not, as long as you made enough income to sustain yourself. Then she said that the reverse was just as possible. It wouldn't be difficult, seeing as you were still relatively new to the industry.

You felt like you just sold your soul to the devil for success. The fear of immediate failure just seemed to grip you so tightly at that moment that you conceded in a panic. The old bitch just looked so smug, and you had the strongest urge to throttle her on the spot. That, and the equally strong urge to be sick.

The day after the agreed night, you slip out of her house, feeling the dirtiest you had ever felt in your life. At least she didn't mark you; she said it would be a shame if your pretty, pale skin got blemished. You were a little thankful for that. Otherwise you wouldn't have been able to look down at your own body until they faded away.

It was barely noon, and you had drunk enough alcohol to pass out back in your flat.

Anything to drown the memories out.

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely sure just yet what direction this is going to take, since I just wrote this real quick when it popped into my head.  
> Chapter lengths are going to vary either way, so I guess that's a thing you've gotta deal with. o^o


End file.
